Butterfly
by floatinginthenightsky
Summary: She's the Capitol's butterfly, and she doesn't belong in the fire. - Catching Fire reaping/post-reaping. Disclaimer: THG isn't mine. Characters aren't mine. All the usual.


_A/N: Effie gif + Trailer + Effie crying + feels = this fic. It's been a while since I posted any proper fics and I apologise. Life is hectic. Got an audition on Monday and after that I'll get everything updated. Hope you like this. (It has smut but nothing graphic. I like to keep it classy.)_

_CF Reaping/Post-Reaping._

* * *

A feeling of dread settles in Effie's stomach as she looks over the District 12 crowd.

The day is hot and she's grateful she wore very little makeup, regardless of how insecure she is without it. But then again, what would've been the point anyway? All the makeup in the world wouldn't be a thick enough mask for her today. It's a strange feeling, finally seeing something you've been blind to all along, and Effie hates herself that it took her so long to realise. As she steps up to the microphone with the solitary female slip in hand, she finally knows how it feels to be on the other side of the Reaping; the side where they are not just tributes you do not know; the side where they are people; the side where they are your friends. Maybe even family.

The slip is open in her hands and she wills herself not to cry. The name that everyone already knows is to be called is printed right there in black and white - right there in her hands - but she can't find the words. She wants to stop this horrific day; wants to rip up the slip in her hands and embrace the people either side of her. She's caused them enough pain, hasn't she? It was only a year ago to this very day that she chose the two slips of paper that would seal their fates. It was easy to smile back then. It was easy to plaster on a fake grin and pretend that these people love you and forgive you and you're not the monstrous angel of death come to rip them away from their families. It's not easy now. How can she ever look them in the eye again? How can she sit opposite them at the dinner table - these children she's grown to love as if they were her own - and smile as if nothing's wrong? Is this how the other Escorts feel today? Like they're throwing their closest friends to the slaughter? Effie does not know if the speculation about the false Quell card is the truth. The only thing she can say for certain is that regardless of whoever made this rule, it's heartless.

She hears a sound from her left. It's a shaky breath; the sound of someone crying. _Oh no,_ she thinks._ Please don't cry, sweet girl._ But how can she be so cruel as to ignore the girl's misery? She's ignored the horror for enough years. She knows this. With tears stinging her eyes and threatening to spill over, Effie turns her head. Katniss Everdeen - the girl so strong and defiant and untouchable - is crying, and Effie can't stand the sight. A quiet whimper escapes the Escort and because fate is cruel, the microphone picks it up and sends the sound echoing around the square and probably through the televisions of everyone in Panem. Katniss turns her head at the sound and meets Effie's stare with teary eyes, a hint of surprise on her features at the Escort's sudden show of emotion._Because of you_, a voice in Effie's head sneers. S_he's crying because of you_, and Effie swears she feels her heart break. Her lower lip trembles at the sight of the lone tear that falls down the Girl on Fire's cheek, and she can't help but give the girl a look of sympathy; a look of pleading; a look that says 'I'm sorry. Please forgive me.'

All she can think is that she _cannot_ do this, and it's as if Katniss can hear her thoughts. Effie's on the brink of tears, dangerously close to breaking in front of the entire nation, and the fact she hasn't even called out the name yet is far to the back of her mind. But it finds its way back to her conscious and her eyes beg Katniss for some kind of support, even though she knows she doesn't deserve it. She knows she needs to pull herself together and Katniss seems to know it too, for the determination returns to the girl's eyes and the look Effie receives is one of understanding and determination; a slight nod of the head that says 'Be brave. They will pay.'

With a renewed respect for the defiant Girl on Fire, Effie returns the slight nod, willing the tears not to betray her false bravery. She could never be brave. She's not Katniss or Peeta or Haymitch. They are hardened. They are full of fire and waiting to consume the Capitol for all its wrongdoings. She's Effie. She's delicate. She's a butterfly, standing in a spotlight with the hard, cold, hateful glares of a million people burning through her; a million people who want to rip off her wings. _But butterflies had to transform in order to fly, and you transformed_, that voice reminds. Or is it a different voice; a kinder one? Effie doesn't know, but it feels like strength and she pushes away the fear that it might be a simple illusion; that she might crack as soon as the names leave her lips. With one last deep, shaky breath and a pathetic attempt to match Katniss' bravery, Effie turns her gaze forward and allows the name to pass her lips.

"Katniss Everdeen."

She doesn't know how long her silent exchange with the Girl on Fire was or how many people noticed it - oh, how that rational part of her head is terrified because deep down, she knows the camera was on her face and projecting it onto the big screens and every other screen in Panem - but Effie knows that nobody in the world would've missed the whimper or the way her voice cracked as she read the girl's name. She suspects today has already been a disaster and she's probably in imminent danger, but she can't care because the task at hand next is even harder. Katniss knew of her fate. Is that not kinder than what she's about to do? Two names await on the other side of the stage, and how is she supposed to read either of them out? Katniss was an inevitability; a cruel one, but inevitable nonetheless. But now, there's a 50/50 chance and the odds are in no one's favour.

She can't look at either of them as she crosses the stage. It would hurt too much and Effie's close to breaking as it is. Only when her hand is touching a slip of paper does she look up, her eyes locking with Haymitch's for only a second before he looks away. She almost frowns. In fact, she does frown; a look of confusion and hurt crossing her features. Does he hate her? _No. Not him. He hated me once. Not again. Please. _Her eyes - for a reason she does not know - shift to look at Peeta, and he does something that breaks her heart more than the sight of Katniss crying. He smiles. It's only a slight smile, but that look of reassurance from a young man she may be about to condemn for the second time in two years gives her something she'd slowly lost over the years: hope; hope that maybe she's strong enough to do this; hope that everything will work out and they will all somehow be okay. She's about to say something - she doesn't know what - but Haymitch looks up and shoots her an impatient look that says 'Get on with it already'.

Effie gives him a weak, apologetic smile and snags the first slip her fingers close around, taking a deep breath as she walks back to the microphone. She doesn't waste a moment this time. She wants it over with. _Like a band aid_, her mind tells her, and she rips open the slip of paper, ready to simply blurt out whichever name is written. She knows it's what she has to do. But the name on the paper shatters her heart and suddenly she's numb, and the name passes her lips in a rush of air even though she silently begs it not to.

"Haymitch Abernathy."

A sick feeling forms in the pit of her stomach and she's not sure she is successful in hiding the stunned look of horror on her face. But then there's a noise; a noise she hates herself for welcoming; and a voice she knows well by now shouts "I volunteer!"

Effie turns her head at the sound and meets Haymitch's troubled eyes. He offers her a weak smile and she can't return it, her gaze instead shifting to Peeta as he takes a step closer to her side. Haymitch looks down and loiters awkwardly off to the side while Katniss and Peeta shuffle closer to the center, and Effie's forced to turn her attention back to the crowd. Silence falls. It's an uncomfortable silence and while it only lasts a few moments, it seems to stretch on for hours. While this is usually the time for Effie to grin, clap her hands together and proclaim the new tributes, she can't quite find the words. She just stares out at the crowd; at the thousands of faces who she's sure would have her head if they could get past the small army of Peacekeepers guarding the District. Part of Effie wishes they could. She doesn't deserve mercy. Not for this.

"Y-Your tributes from District 12. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark." She murmurs into the microphone, and the air immediately shifts around her, as if it was a moment someone had been waiting for. She turns at the disturbance just in time for Peeta to raise his left hand into the air in the 3-fingered salute of District 12. It catches the attention of Haymitch and his eyes meet Effie's in a worried glance, before he turns to look out at the moving crowd. Effie turns. One by one, hands raise in various places throughout the crowd - the elders and parents first, then the children who don't quite understand the gesture but are simply copying the grown ups - and it spreads like a fire that will not rest until everything has been consumed by its flame. It takes all of Effie's effort not to join in, especially when Katniss joins in the sign of respect, but she's the Capitol butterfly and there's no place for her in the fire. Instead, she falters and shifts slightly, her eyes darting back and forth over the crowd, and for the first time in a long time, Effie Trinket does not know what to do.

She hardly even notices the Peacekeepers approach them from the back of the stage, but suddenly, Katniss is dragged away from her side and towards the doors.

"I get to say goodbye." The girl says, a hint of desperation in her voice. "I get to say goodbye!"

"What-?" Effie begins, intending to ask what's happening, but a noise from the crowd catches her attention.

"Katniss! Katniss!" Effie turns her head towards Primrose's voice from below the stage, her heart breaking all over again. "Katniss!"

Effie's about to open her mouth to argue and demand that the children are allowed to say goodbye, but by now, Katniss is through the doors and her voice can only be faintly heard. "Let me say goodbye! Prim! I love you, Prim!"

Effie's horrified and hesitates, looking down at the crowd and searching for something to say; something to do; but a hand grasps her wrist and she snaps her head back around to glare at its owner. The Peacekeeper looks hesitant and apologetic, but gives her a light tug, insisting she goes quietly. Effie turns to desperately look for Haymitch with pleading eyes that cry out for help, and he's there in seconds, roughly pulling his arm out of his own Peacekeeper's grasp and giving the man beside Effie the intimidating glare of a killer. The Peacekeeper backs off, and then Haymitch is leading her instead with a hand lightly resting on her lower back. He looks annoyed and flashes an angry look of warning at every Peacekeeper who tries to approach them until they're safely in the back of a car. No one speaks. No one knows what to say. What is there to say? 'I'm sorry'? 'Forgive me'? 'Lovely weather today'? There's just no topic that works, and it's one of the rare moments that Effie is speechless.

—x—

Emptiness. It's all Effie can feel.

This side of the train is empty, something which Effie is grateful for. She doesn't want the children to see or hear her cry.

Sitting on the edge of her bed in complete and utter silence, Effie can finally let her mask fall completely. And fall it does, and it shatters on the ground and she knows she'll never be able to truly put it back on. It must be how a criminal feels, she thinks, to be escorted like a child, surrounded by Peacekeepers incase she steps a foot out of line. Escorted. The acknowledgement of the word makes her feel sick, and suddenly she understands, and it brings on a fresh wave of tears. Is this how the tributes felt all this time? Is that what she was there for? To be the Capitol's guard and make sure they walk to their deaths without resistance? And why does she feel like a tribute herself; like the train is carrying her to her own doom? Probably because she knows that's exactly the case. Her mask had always been a part of her, but today it had slipped - failed her - and it's sure to prove fatal. She realises she's been a tribute for years in her own game; a game of smiles and facades and acting; a game of hiding in the glamour of the whole rotten affair and facing it with a ghastly grin, even when the child you broke bread with is slaughtered for the whole country to see. They play by different rules, and everyone knew the Escorts were safe as long as their mask remained. But her mask fell. It's game over.

A whimpered sob escapes her and she takes in a sharp breath, trying to hold it in to stop the owner of the footsteps shuffling past her door from hearing. She knows it's him. She's knows the way he shuffles through the train, having never quite gotten the hang of walking properly while it moves. She mentally kicks herself when the footsteps stop outside her room, and when he opens the door without knocking, she swears he gives her a look of sympathy. She looks up at him with teary eyes and he lets out a sigh, entering the room and closing the door behind him.

"I messed up." Her voice is weak and laced with fear. The mentor sighs again and sits next to her uninvited, but she doesn't care for manners at this moment. It all seems so petty now; just another part of her mask. He doesn't speak, but his hand comes to rest somewhat awkwardly on her lower back. The touch is comforting and warm - more than Effie deserves - and the tears begin to spill over.

"How can you comfort me? I chose your name. How can you stand the sight of me?" Her voice breaks before she can even finish the second sentence and the tears fall freely. In an instant, she finds herself enclosed in strong, comforting arms and she's sobbing, her face buried in the crook of his neck. "I chose your name."

"Sweetheart…" She feels the mentor shake his head and hold her tighter. "You did what you had to do."

"The look on Katniss' face… I'm a monster." She murmurs through tears, her voice muffled by his overcoat. She hears him sigh, and he pulls back to look into her eyes, his rough thumb lightly stroking her cheek to wipe some of the tears away.

"Katniss understands that you had no choice. No one blames you." His voice is softer than she's heard in a while and it feels like he's trying to reassure her. For what reason, she doesn't know. She's just pulled his name. He should want her to feel pain.

"She cried, Haymitch. She's always been such a strong girl, but she cried and I just… I lost it."

"I heard." He murmurs, frowning.

"I'll be in trouble, won't I?" Effie whispers, suddenly terrified as thoughts of her family and friends cross her mind; her brother and his two young children; her mother and father, so happy in their old age and so proud of their little girl. The little girl who may have just doomed them.

"We'll handle it if it comes to that, okay?" He offers her a weak smile, and she's grateful he doesn't try to deny something she knows is now inevitable. People will die because of her, and she knows this. There's no point hiding from cruel reality. She just nods in response.

Haymitch stands and looks down at her with a pitying shake of his head, before heading off into the bathroom. She watches curiously as he returns with a damp washcloth and sits back down beside her.

"You look a mess, woman." He grumbles, and lifts the cloth to her face. Effie almost flinches, worried he'll be rough, but the way he gently presses the damn cloth to her cheek surprises her pleasantly. She watches him with curiosity as he bites his lip in concentration, slowly and carefully removing the ruined makeup from her skin. His touch is gentle and caring enough to make her heart race, and she'd be more than content to remain this close to him forever, gazing into his eyes, but she knows she has to stop those thoughts before she does something stupid, like kiss him. Instead, she occupies herself with removing her gloves so she can take the wig off her head. It feels heavy now that the rest of her mask has slipped, and her outfit even feels ridiculous to her. Sure, she finds the dress pretty and in any other situation, she'd treasure it forever, but it's been ruined by bad memories. It's the dress she will always link to this day, and in all honesty, she'd rather forget.

With her practiced hands, the wig is off in record time and she rises to place it on the stand atop her dresser. Haymitch remains seated, watching her as if he's waiting for her to break again. And she does. All it takes it one failed attempt at a weak smile and she's falling apart, and Haymitch reaches up to pull her back down onto the bed and hold her in his arms.

"You've gotta pull yourself together, sweetheart." He sighs and she clings to him, her tears soaking into the fabric of his coat.

"Do they hate me? Do you?" It's all she really cares about. She would give anything to go back and not have to pull their names - or any names - but the damage is done and she feels powerless.

"I don't hate you. You had to do it. And they understand. They don't hate you either." She finds herself comforted by his voice; the low drawl that vibrates through his chest; and though her tears still fall, she closes her eyes allows it to calm her just slightly. Her head is resting on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his body. She tries to think back and remember if he's ever held her this way before, but she doesn't think he has. She wishes he had. She feels safe in his arms, and it's something she never expected. "If you didn't do what you did today, they would've killed you. The kids need you. So do I."

With her eyes closed, all her other senses are heightened. She's extremely conscious of his arm wrapped around her waist and the hand that at some point has found its way into her hair, and his warmth and smell envelope her. He smells nice when he's clean, she thinks; of the woods and clean linen and cologne, with that hint of whiskey always there underneath it all. There's no way she can describe it, except that it's so perfectly him. And she likes it. Her hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, unintentionally brushing his chest on the way up, and she swears she feels him tense up slightly and suck in a sharp breath. But then she might be imagining things.

"I'm a monster." She whispers, defeated, and Haymitch pulls back slightly. When she looks up, confused, his face is inches from hers with a troubled expression that seems to border on annoyance. He shakes his head but says nothing, so she speaks again. "I am a monster. And everyone knows it."

Haymitch stares at her for what feels like a long moment, looking to be conflicted about something. The silence stretches between them as their eyes remain locked; his troubled and hers curious.

"You're not the monster in all this." He murmurs in a low voice after what feels like forever, and his eyes show nothing but honesty, pity and kindness. She feels tears forming again in her eyes and she has to break the eye contact for fear she may fall apart. But Haymitch reacts faster than she can, and before she can break down again, the mentor's fingers are gently lifting her chin and his lips are against hers.

It takes her mere seconds to react. Her hands lift to caress up his chest and cling to his shoulders, desperately pulling him closer, and only when his arms wrap around her waist does she realise just how much she wants this; how much she's wanted it for years. The feeling of being in his arms is nothing like she'd ever imagined. He's strong; comforting; warm; everything she needs in this moment. She almost feels guilty for the warmth filling her body. Almost.

His lips move against hers with a tender passion she didn't know he could possess and it makes her heart race wildly. It's a soft kiss at first, but when she feels his tongue against her lips and opens them to invite him in, he lets out a low moan, which she echoes, and a desperation grows between them. His hands grip her waist and he's practically pulling her onto his lap, and all she wants is to be surrounded by him; to feel nothing but him. No pain. No fear. No guilt. Only him. She feels the need for air and pulls back, but his lips are on her neck instantly and she can only moan and let him continue. He's nothing like the Capitol men she's had before - all so tame and reserved; so afraid of passion - and it's a refreshing change; one she could definitely get used to. His hand brushes lightly against her neck as he reaches up to sweep her hair aside, and Effie can't help but shudder at the feeling. And then his lips are on her skin again and she's pulling him closer, whispering into his ear "Make me forget, Haymitch."

He pulls back to look at her once more, his eyes searching hers for any uncertainty and finding none. His hand moves to caress her cheek and wipe away the tears as they hold each others gaze, neither of them speaking - words aren't necessary anymore. He seems nervous, she notices, and her arms wrap around his neck and this time she's the one to take the lead, trailing kisses along his jaw until their lips meet again. He doesn't put up a fight. A moan escapes him as Effie's hands move up his chest and underneath his coat, pushing it off his shoulders while her lips move against his. His hands caress her waist; her hips; her back, until they find the fastenings on the strange dress that covers her body; and Effie lets out soft moans with every movement.

She helps him with the dress - it's too complicated for him to figure out; something she can't help but smile at - and soon it's thrown carelessly to the floor of her room. She's sorry to Cinna for his hard work simply being tossed aside, but she's too eager for a distraction. When Haymitch lifts her by her waist and lowers her back onto the bed, his eyes black with hunger, all thoughts of the butterfly dress are long gone from her mind. Her hand brushes the overgrown, messy hair back from his face, and the look they share is one of both concern and need; the need to push thoughts of today far from their minds. There's so much they need to discuss; so many worries to voice and seek reassurance for, yet neither of them say a word. Effie caresses the mentor's cheek with a pleading look in her eyes, and he claims her lips in response.

Haymitch's shirt is pulled over his head and his lips quickly dragged back down to Effie's. Her hands roam his chest and back, her fingertips taking in the feeling of his muscles and lightly tracing any scars they find. She wants to explore him; to feel all of him and give herself completely to this tortured man from District 12; this man who's so rough yet so gentle, and so heartbreakingly troubled yet so caring; this man who has a softer side that no one else in the world ever gets to see. And when they finally become one - their movements and kisses desperate and passionate and so full of pain - her mind goes blank and the day can be forgotten, at least for a little while. He's everything; everywhere; the only thing she's aware of as they move together, soft moans and low growls and heavy breathing the only sounds she can hear. His hands leave trails of fire blazing under her skin, and every touch makes her feel alive. The fire's building and threatening to consume her, and she wants it to. Oh, how she wants it to. She wants to burn forever under his touch. She wants to stay there forever; forget the Games, forget the Capitol, forget the train that's carrying them to hell on Earth. In his arms, the rest of the world disappears. In his arms, there's only fire. The heat rises then explodes until all she can see is flames, and all she can hear is the roar of the fire and the way his gruff voice moans her name over and over.

And after, while they sleep away the hours until dinner, Effie dreams of a butterfly, free to spread its colourful wings in blissful ignorance, until the fire consumes it and it's left broken on the ground.


End file.
